These Hooves
by Kesagake
Summary: Sam and Dean investigate a rash of deaths caused by stomping to death with hooves . . . in the inside of bars.
1. Chapter 1

"Alright, so what's the job?", said Dean as he drove the Impala down a two lane road, Rush blasting over the car's speakers. "So," replied Sam, "there's been a rash of deaths by stomping around small towns in Oklahoma. Police think that it's a deer or something similar. The most recent death was last night." "So what?", asked Dean; "this is Oklahoma we're talking about here, you sure these guys didn't just get reverse Bambi's momified?" Sam replied "That's what I thought too. That is until I heard the locations; the insides of bars." "Okay," said Dean, "now that's worth looking into. Either these bars've got bouncers with negative IQs or we've got ourselves a case. Let's check it out." As he said this, the Impala went faster down the highway pavement.

The brother's walked into a small bar, dressed in suits. The bar was filled with police officers, at least four or five of them. Sam and Dean approached one of them, the sheriff, and pulled out their fake badges, and Dean spoke, in the most official voice he could muster; "Hello sir, agents Bouchard and Roeser. What's the situation?" "Well," replied the sheriff, "it's just about the damndest thing I've ever seen. You two oughta come and take a look for yourselves." Dean asked "So, where's the vic?" The sheriff, with the slightest hint of humor in his voice said "He's in the john; come on, I'll show ya." As the sheriff walked to the back of the door and swung open the bathroom door, the brothers quickly exchanged a confused look before following him inside the /On the restroom floor lay the body of a young man, battered and bruised, laying in a pool of drying blood; in the in the pool were hoof prints, specifically those of a deer. Both of the brothers stared at the scene in utter confusion, prompting the sheriff to say. "I told you it was the damndest thing, didn't I? Nobody can make heads or tails of this mess." "Umm . . ." said Sam "I know this is going to be an odd question, but did anyone see a . . . deer walk in here?" The sheriff, clearly annoyed, replied, "Son, if a deer walked into a bar in plain goddamn sight, don't you think someone woulda seen it?" "Alright then," said Sam, "then did anybody see anything at all? A possible assailant?" "Nope, nothing; far as anybody know he walked in and beat himself to death with invisible hooves. It don't make any damn sense." "Yeah, you can say that again," said Dean. "So, we got any friends of the deceased who might have been here that night?" "Yeah," said the sheriff, "we got a guy the name of Ryan Sellers, left his contact information."

The brothers obtained the information from the sheriff and began walking to the Impala "What the hell could this be Dean? It doesn't make any sense" "I don't know," said Dean as he opened the Impala door and entered the drivers seat, and Sam did the same on the passenger side, "but I say we go pay this Ryan a visit and see if he knows anything".  
The Impala began rolling down the quiet, small town street, onward to its next destination.


	2. Chapter 2

The Impala drove up to the residence of Ryan Sellers; Dean and Sam, still dressed in their suits, walked up to the small house on the quiet, small town street. The two brothers walked to the door and knocked. Shortly thereafter a young man, dressed in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. "H-hello?" Dean, using his most authoritative voice, replied, "Hello sir, I'm agent Bouchard and this is my partner, agent Roeser; we'd like to ask you a few questions about the death of your friend. May we come in?" "Oh, of course sir, please do."

Ryan led the two 'agents' into the den of his house, an unkempt mess of a room. "Sorry," he said, "I'm not much of a cleaner." "You got that right," mumbled Dean as he stepped over a half-empty bag of Doritos. Ryan sat down on a dingy, tattered old chair while the brothers sat on a loveseat sofa in a near identical state.

"So, what do you guys want to ask me?"Well," asked Sam, "was your friend acting strangely on the night of his death? In any way out of the ordinary?" "Not really; he was doing what he usually does, trying to put the moves on some poor girl who didn't know any better." "If I may ask," continued Sam, "did these so-called 'moves' of his have any results that night?" "Yeah, I was kinda surprised actually; some pretty little Indian girl seemed to be heads over heels for him." Dean, jumping in, continued the questioning. "And did there seem to be anything strange about this girl? Anything at all, a scar or an interesting piece of jewelry, even a unique hairstyle?" "There was one thing I thought was weird about her. She wore the longest damned skirt I've ever seen. Couldn't even see her feet past the damned thing. Anything else I can tell you?" "No sir," said Dean, "that's all; thank you for your time."

Sam and Dean exited the house and began walking toward the Impala. "So what do you think it is?" Sam asked "Vengeful spirit, or maybe a curse?" I dunno Sammy," replied Dean. "I think it's time to hit the books on this one." The two got into the Impala and drove off in the direction of the motel in which they were staying.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam and Dean sat together in their dingy hotel room. This hotel room was slightly nicer than their usual habitations; There wasn't a single hole in the carpet and not a single stain could be seen, at least not without a black light. Sam, now dressed in a flannel shirt and a pair of black jeans, sat in front of his laptop, looking for the possible identity of the killer creature while Dean, wearing a black t-shirt and a denim jacket and pants, was lying on the bed, having been studying for the past hour himself.

"Getting anywhere on our mystery creature Sammy?" "Actually yeah. Seems to me like we're dealing with a deer lady." Dean, a bit of skepticism in his voice, sat up and asked, "A what? Has little Sammy started making up monsters to get out of study duty?" Sam, somewhat agitated, replied; "No, there's actually a good bit of lore to back this up. They seem to be a distant cousin to shapeshifters and werewolves, but they're not quite as good at changing themselves; their feet always stay as hooves, which is why they always try to hide their feet. Their modus operandi seems to be finding some guy they think is a womanizing jerk, getting them alone with them, and then turning into a deer and stomping the crap out of them."

"So, how do we gank this thing and make ourselves some human venison?" "Firstly", said Sam, "as far as I can tell you can kill it just like a shapeshifter, anything silver'll do it. And secondly, that 'human venison' thing was reeeeeally creepy."

"Yeah, I guess it was," Dean replied hastily in a slightly embarrassed, hushed voice. "Anyway, how are we going to track this freak down?" "Oh, that part is actually pretty easy; these things usually stick around the same town for at least a week, looking for more womanizing jerks to off. All we gotta do is send one into that bar, make sure he does his thing long enough for the Deer Lady to notice, and have him off the thing." "Alright, good enough plan, but where are we gonna find a dick like that on such short notice?" Without missing a beat, Sam turned his eyes from the laptop monitor and began to stare at Dean. "What, you mean me? No way man, no way." Sam continued to stare at Dean unwaveringly. "Oh come on Sammy, no way!" Again, Sam continued to stare, only moving his head ever so slightly to the right. "Son of a bitch!"


	4. Chapter 4

Dean sat at the bar, nursing a beer, barely drinking for fear that if he drank he would not be sharp enough for the task at hand. He could barely contain his nervousness, but knew that he had to do so or the deer lady would think him suspicious. Even though he knew Sam was sitting only a few feet away at a table and had his back, he still couldn't help but feel that he was in a little over his head on this one. As he sat there pondering the good luck (or perhaps misfortune, at least in his case) they'd had in there being another bar in town, a woman, young in appearance, approached him in what appeared to be a shy manner. She had large, dark, brown eyes and thin lips, and raven hair that went down to the small of her back. She also had a plain tan shirt and, as Dean observed, a skirt that went all the way down to the floor, obscuring her feet from view entirely.

"Excuse me," the woman said bashfully, "but do you think I'm pretty?" Dean, determined not to betray his intentions to his prey, replied with a smirk and a typical but of snark. "Well sure, but I'd say you're more hot than pretty. Really diggin' the 60s Haight-Ashbury thing you've got going there." With a bit of well faked timidity, the woman continued; "Would you like to go somewhere . . . more private?" "Oh yeah," Dean said with false confidence, his acting nearly as convincing as the woman's; "just show me the way." Without another word, the woman gingerly grabbed the fingers of Dean's hand and led him to the bathroom.

Once the two entered the bathroom, Dean began to reach for the silver knife tucked into the back of his jeans. Before he could use the knife, however, the woman kicked him square in the chest, sending him flying into the dingy tiled wall, leaving a dent and numerous cracked tiles. Quickly recovering, Dean lunged from his position on the floor and was met for his efforts with a swift kick to the stomach, flooring him and making him lose hold of the knife, which skittered and slid to the opposite side of the room.

The woman, now sure of her dominance in the current situation, was arms were changing, becoming thinner and yet somehow more well muscled, her finger morphing into the toes of rough black chest flattened, becoming more level with her stomach. Her face was becoming longer, her mouth and nose combining into one grotesque snout, her eyes becoming larger and darker. From her new mandibles, she uttered a wild cry and began to speak. "You will not take advantage of me like you have so many other women; you have had your fun, now pay your penance!" As she said this, she began to walk toward Dean, defenseless as he was on the ground.

She raised her hoof above Dean's face, ready to begin her ritualistic stomping of symbolic revenge, but before she could exact her fury, the door of the bathroom swung open, and she turned to face Sam, who thrust his knife deep within her chest. The woman emitted a hellish scream, chilling the boys to their very bones, before she collapsed to the now blood covered tiles.

After retrieving his knife from the deceased creature's chest and grabbing Dean's from the floor, Sam spoke as if he had just ripped off a Band-Aid or dealt with a troublesome yard that hadn't been mowed in a while. "Well, that wasn't so hard." "Speak for yourself ," Dean grunted as he lifted himself from the floor; "I'm gonna be nursing these bruises for weeks." "Oh shut it you big baby, you've had worse," Sam said, chuckling a bit as he helped his brother up off the floor. "Bitch," Dean jokingly said as he left the bathroom, now in shambles. "Jerk," replied Sam in kind as he followed his brother to the Impala. "Whatever," said Dean "let's get out of here before the bartender sends someone to clean up in here."


End file.
